Long Row On Hatches Pond

At sunset all trees turned liquid, bark shimmering
like fish scales.  Steep hills of pine sloped

into the lake;  trees grew close.  Branches dark
and interlocking kept me off shore.  Near a pine

knocked down, I cast a lure for a wide-mouth
bass to bite.  Few did.  Still I rowed the old

metal boat far from the abandoned shack, the dock,
the landing where birches gathered.  At the far end

reeds sprung cattails.  Redwing blackbirds bristled
warnings.  After one enormous pull I tucked

the oars like wings, hurled my raw body headlong
into the bow, arms stretching over gunwales, chest

pressing the ridge, my nose nearly plowing into water.
I parted lily pads, flew low through a forest of weeds

until I thudded but did not tip.  Rolling to face the sky
darkening, my seat on the hull, legs draped over bench,

I heard the thick crickets trill the night, truce
from stifling day.  Then wind came to drag me home.